My Own Azkaban
by summerthyme
Summary: Madam Pince. Draco Malfoy. Percy Weasley. Do we really know the whole story?
1. Madam Pince

A/N: I had the idea for this fic a few days ago, and it was just calling me. I think it's   
a really original idea, and I hope you agree with me. Who knows, if I get motivated, it might   
be the first in a series of monologues by various under-represented characters. Inspired by   
the question "What do we really know?"  
  
Disclaimer: Madam Pince, Harry Potter, and all related ideas and "things" are the property of  
JK Rowling, Warner Brothers, Scholastic Publishing, and a bunch of other companies. Don't   
sue me, because the only thing I would have to give you would be my precious books.  
  
  
  
These walls are like a prison to me.  
  
Everyday I wake up, and come here, to these four walls. Everyday I do the same mundane tasks.  
Everyday of my miserable pathetic life.  
  
To some this place is a refuge. A haven, if you will, from the fast-paced Hogwarts life.   
Students come here for a bit of quiet. Once they cross the threshold of this sacred place,   
they enter the Kingdom of Solitude. They feel safe, surrounded by silence. And by books.   
  
They stand on the shelves in a dignified way. Somehow just being around them can make a student   
feel more intelligent. True, the books can be intimidating. Large, leather volumes peek at you,   
eyes seeming to watch from their dusty pages. The knowledge they hold is more than any person   
could learn in a lifetime. And still, they try to read them all. I have seen many in the past,   
who come as if to their home. And in a way it is their home, it is where they feel comfortable.   
The students with the books. Books will always be there, and they always try to read them all.   
But I have yet to see one succeed. There have been two or three close calls, yes, but not one   
has completed the task.   
  
I used to be one such student. I used to be a great lover of books. I could come here, to my   
sanctuary, everyday, and look forward to opening the moldy and decaying books, the novels and   
encyclopedias. It was all in my thirst for knowledge. I had the dream that knowledge would lead   
to power.   
  
That was a long time ago.  
  
Now I hate books. They are a sign of the life a lead, of this prison I am trapped in. For I am   
the ruler of this Kingdom of Solitude. But not willingly, not in the least bit. I had the crown   
forced upon my head, with my pleas taken for as much worth as a grain of salt. These books used   
to be my friends. But now they laugh at me, from their tall shelves, spanning wall to wall and   
floor to ceiling. They are a reminder of how I am trapped. I am trapped in my own Azkaban.   
  
But why am I here? What a silly question. I am here for one reason: I am dangerous.  
  
Dangerous? Me? I knew you wouldn't believe me. What danger could an old, decrepit librarian   
hold? What danger could she put the people of the wizarding and muggle world in?  
  
I could destroy them all, if I wished. I could have the world flattened, and put the remaining   
pieces in the palm of my hand, and scatter them to the fickle winds. I could enslave the human   
race, and together with my King of Darkness we would rule over the land. All spirits would be   
crushed, all fragile minds bent to do my bidding. It would be paradise. With my knowledge, I   
would have a power over them. And with my power, I could be happy.   
  
Of course, that is if they would let me have a wand, if they would let me do magic. They   
condemn me to this room, and they deny me the use of the power I was born with. They try to   
crush my spirit, but I cannot be swayed. They don't allow me to have a wand, because they are   
afraid of what I would do with it. That's why all students are severely instructed not to leave  
their wands lying about, incase it fell into the hands of this feeble old woman. I wouldn't   
be so feeble anymore.   
  
What gives me such ideas? What makes me have such murderous and malignant ideas?   
  
When I was a student, someone told me something I would never forget. "There is no such thing   
as good and evil," he had said. "There is only power, and those to weak to seek it."  
  
He was right, naturally. I didn't understand at first, but he helped me to see. He helped me,   
because he loved me. I was the only girl he had ever loved, and I had loved him back, with a   
strength and a passion that had almost frightened the both of us.   
  
He helped me develop my talents, so I was nearly as powerful as him. It was amazing to see what   
I things I could do, what goals I could achieve. And when we graduated school, we began making  
our plans. Plans that took decades to form. Eighteen years ago, we began to set these words   
and ideas into a reality. We started our own group, a society who had ideals like us. Wizards   
and witches who wanted to clean the world of the mudblood and half-blood filth. People who   
still recognized the value of being a pureblood wizard.  
  
But two years after we had started, something happened. An accident. He was struck down by a   
child, a baby no less. A raven-haired, emerald-eyed child who had no idea what power he   
possessed, nor how he would change the lives of millions the world over. This infant nearly   
killed my love. I wasn't with him when it happened, but I was captured shortly after the attack.   
Aurors had been sent to find me, and they used Veritaserum to weasel the information out of me.   
I tried to resist, I truly did. But the potion was too powerful. They found out everything about   
the plan.  
  
They were going to send me to Azkaban, but they decided they wanted me under the observant eye   
of Albus Dumbledore, the only wizard with talent enough to detain me from associating with my   
former people. So they placed me here, as a librarian, to ward off suspicion. And they gave me   
the name I bear now. Madam Pince. It is a nasty, common name. A name undeserving to be used when   
referring to myself. If my love hears of me, he will not know it is I. I hope one day he will   
realize who I truly am, and he will come and rescue me, and we can continue our plan of world   
domination.  
  
But until then, I cling to hope. The hope that one day he will find me. And everyday, I write   
my true name down, so I will never forget who I really am.  
  
I am Mrs. Tom Marvolo Riddle, Mrs. Lord Voldemort, a.k.a. Madam Pince. But not Madam Pince, just   
Mrs. Castalina Riddle.   
  
I sit here, dusting shelves, sorting volumes, checking out books to the snobby, ill-mannered   
students who come to this school.  
  
One is approaching the check-out counter. A boy with raven hair, and eyes that sparkle like the   
emeralds in the ring my love once gave me. I smile as I stamp the card inside his book. He   
thinks I am smiling because I am glad to see him, and he smiles back.  
  
I know I smile because I am dreaming of the pleasure I would get from killing him, this boy who   
destroyed my love. My husband and myself will come, one day, for this boy, and we will torture   
and kill him.  
  
But until then, I sit and smile, stamping his books and plotting his demise. 


	2. Draco Malfoy

A/N: Another addition to 'My Own Azkaban'. I think I might continue with this trend, and create   
more monologues from what I consider the 'misunderstood' characters. Trelawney, Percy, Fluer,   
who knows who else? And I'm thinking of taking my Madame Pince monologue and turning it into a   
whole story. I probably won't start it 'till after exams though. I'm really supposed to be   
studying for the one tomorrow, but oh well. Please review, and ell me what you think.  
Disclaimer: I sincerely hope you would know what is JK's. If you didn't, you wouldn't be reading   
this story.  
  
  
It is cold.  
  
That thought is always the first to come when I wake up. I find myself once again down here,   
locked in the dungeons of my own manor. I am imprisoned by my father. I am always imprisoned   
by my father.   
  
And I am always held captive for the same thing: disobedience. I do not wish to follow my   
father's will, so I resist. It is all in vain, as I always find myself back here.   
  
He wishes to mold me into a replica of himself. He is the sculptor, and I am the clay. But I do   
not wish to be formed and folded into him. I am not evil. I have never been evil. Even   
throughout school, all my actions, all my hurtful words, were the product of obedience to my   
father. I never really hated Potter, or Weasley and Granger. I had to be hostile towards them,   
or I would be punished. Not punished like some teenagers get, like being grounded. My father   
takes punishment to the next extreme, by waving his wand and saying the word 'Crucio'.  
  
Did you know the sorting hat wanted to put me Gryffindor? I had all the characteristics, it   
said. A good heart, a good mind, and the will to do good. Of course, one thought about what my   
father would do if I didn't get in Slytherin, and I got my wish. I still wonder, though, what   
would have happened if I was put into Gryffindor. Would I have friends? Would I be happy? And   
most importantly, would I still be alive?  
  
But I have learned there is no use in dwelling in the past. Or worrying about the future. There   
is only living in the present, and trying to survive. For example, I am presently trying to   
calculate how long I was unconscious. That was the longest I have ever been put under the curse,   
and the second time I have passed out.   
  
My head hurts. I put my fingers up to my head, and draw them back. Blood, sticky and chilly,   
coats my fingers. I close my eyes, and wince as I imagine the contrast between the dark red of   
the blood and the pale white of my hair. This will leave a mark. I suppose my father will   
concoct some story for me to tell, when I go back to Hogwarts tomorrow. Like he has done so many   
times before. The teachers believe, for the most part, but some are starting to suspect.   
Professor Snape, I don't think he believes anymore. He nods his acceptance, but I see something   
behind his eyes. Something like... compassion? Pity? No, it is not pity. He knows I scorn pity.   
I do not need someone to feel sorry for me.   
  
What I need is an escape. I need to escape these walls, escape this manor. I need to escape this   
life! Day after day I am sent constant reminders of the man who I am supposed to be turning   
into. I am supposed to except this silver spoon set into my mouth when I was born, and live the   
life of luxury, to show my contempt to those less wealthy. I am supposed to pledge my allegiance   
to Voldemort, to except evil as all. But I refuse to.   
  
And that is why I am in the dungeons, this room reserved just for me. I am in my own Azkaban.   
And I am beating against the bars, screaming to be let out.  
  
I take my pledge as a Deatheater in a few months, when I graduate from Hogwarts. I have only   
until June to be free, then I am thrust into my gilded cage, and my wings are clipped.   
  
Have you seen what the Deatheaters do? I have witnessed what they do to muggles. They had   
kidnapped an entire family, held them captive here at the manor over Christmas. For their   
amusement.   
  
There was a mother and a father, a son, and a girl about my age. They had them magically bound   
and gagged, and they were grouped around them in a circle. I stood there with my father, and   
watched, transfixed in horror, as they fired unthinkable curses at the muggles. Practice, they   
had said.  
  
I locked eyes with the girl. We had a silent conversation, an understanding between us. She was   
trapped, captured. I was the same. And in that moment I felt something. Compassion, empathy.   
And I wished I was the one tied up.   
  
After the amusement wore off, they were locked in the dungeon for the night. The next day, they   
were killed. Avada kedavra, and they were gone. They burned the bodies so no evidence would be   
left.  
  
The next day, I went into the cell they were kept. I saw something scratched into the wall.  
  
Boy, it had said.   
I wish you luck. I don't know what is going on, but the feeling of death is among us. It   
is too late for me, but it is not too late for you. I saw something in your eyes; you did not   
want to be there. You have a good heart. Take my advice: The first chance you get, run. Run as   
fast as you can, and never look back. If you cannot do this for yourself, then do it for me. Do   
it for all the children who will die because of these people, whoever they are.  
You still have time,  
Elizabeth Rebecca Thomas  
  
Elizabeth Rebecca Thomas. A muggle, yes, but a person who truly understood. I will not forget   
her, and I will take her advice. This summer, I will run. I will go to the farthest ends of the   
Earth, and never reveal myself.  
  
No. That is the coward's way out. I will run, yes, to the protection of Hogwarts. I will join   
the fight, and take down the ultimate evil. Perhaps I could be a spy, and infiltrate Voldemort's   
inner circle. But if I did that, I would be forced to be with these, these sorry excuses for   
human beings. I would be forced to play their devilish games. Forced to kill the good. I   
shudder; I would not be able to live that life. I am not man enough, and I can admit it. I have   
already caused harm to others, for no legitimate reason, and I will not do it again. They are   
not deserving of it, just as I am not deserving of their empathy or understanding.  
  
But I yearn for it. I yearn for their acceptance, and to finally be a part of the solution, not   
the problem. High hopes, yes, but if I reform my ways I may be able to achieve it.   
  
First, though, after I manage to survive the rest of this holiday break, I need to talk to   
someone. Dumbledore, or Snape. They can help. I will have to swallow my pride and ask for it,   
but I know they will help me. And I think they know that I am not like my father. I pray to God   
they know I am not like my father.  
  
Until then, I sit here. I sit in this cold, dank dungeon, silently mopping my blood with the   
sleeve of my robe, and dreaming of better days. 


	3. Percy Weasley

A/N: Here it is, monologue # 3! I wrote this today after my History exam. It seems these are   
getting less creepy and more... sad. I'll have to try and write another weird send-chills-down-  
your-spine one. I'll have enough time, since Christmas break starts Wednesday! ^_^ Thanks are   
at the bottom of the story.  
* Dedicated to Calypso, a fellow Percy lover   
Disclaimer: Percy, the Weasleys, and all other Harry Potter characters and ideas are the   
property of JK Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Brothers, and probably a bunch of other companies I   
don't know about.  
  
  
I am surrounded.  
  
The walls of my cubicle loom before me, and to my left and right. I sit at my old oak desk, and   
silently curse the mountains of paperwork scattered haphazardly about. A distant change from my   
normally organized self. Another dull report. That's all my life has been. A series of   
meaningless reports.  
  
Growing up, I didn't see much of my father. This was during Voldemort's reign, and I was a small   
child, about four or five. These were crucial moments of my life. The defining of my character,   
that would affect my actions and attitudes for years to come.  
  
It was Mum, Fred, George, and myself. No father.  
  
I could understand, though. They needed him at the Ministry. Even in my child's mind I could   
tell the strain the long hours were putting on him. But he always seemed to have time for the   
twins and mum, no matter how tired he was. All I got was a brief pat on the head, and then I was   
discarded in favor of the twin's babyish antics.  
  
Perhaps it was because they were funnier than me. I always thought my father possessed a   
fantastic sense of humor. Except, of course, when he was using it against me.   
  
My siblings turned against me as well. They made fun of me because I was the only one who had to   
wear glasses. They made fun of me because I liked to read, but really I absorbed myself with   
books so as to escape their taunts.   
  
I was glad when I was old enough to attend Hogwarts. I thought it would be a new, fresh   
beginning for me. Unfortunately, I had no such luck.   
  
In my excitement, I had forgotten about the legacy my older brothers had left behind. Bill and   
Charlie had already graduated, being Head Boy and Quidditch Captain respectively. They were all   
around fantastic people, and were liked by the general population of students.   
  
I imagine how much anticipation had been built up. Another fun-filled, exuberant, and   
mischievous Weasley to liven things up. How very disappointed they must have been when they saw   
me. I had neatly-combed hair, horn rimmed glasses, and was a little too skinny for my height.   
  
Eventually, just as my siblings had, the students turned against me too. I suffered at the mercy  
of their endless taunts and jokes. It was even worse when Fred and George started school, and   
encouraged the breakdown of my mental and emotional stability, never knowing they were   
destroying me, from the inside out.  
  
Four longs years I had to deal with it, until finally, in my fifth year, I was made a prefect.  
  
And I met her.  
  
She was a Ravenclaw, with a mass of curly blonde hair, and clear blue eyes. There was a   
smattering of freckles across her face, but not nearly as many as graced my own. Here was a   
person who understood. She too had suffered by her classmates' ridicules, teased because she   
was smart. We immediately bonded, and became good friends, until finally, the attraction grew   
too strong and I kissed her.   
  
We had been meeting in places all over the castle, so as to avoid rude words and stares. We were   
sitting on a desk, and chatting about transfiguration and Animagi. And suddenly, I kissed her. I  
was shocked at my boldness and behavior, and even more so when I realized this was something I   
had wanted to do for a long time. I was especially surprised when she kissed me back, but   
ecstatic to learn the emotions were shared.  
  
Unfortunately, Ginny decided right then to walk into that classroom. Out of all the hundreds of   
rooms Hogwarts holds, she had chosen that one. I remember it well.  
  
  
  
"P-P-Percy?!" she gasped, eyes widening in disbelief.  
  
She startled both Penelope and I. We fell off the desk into a heap of appendages. I untangled   
myself quickly, and turned to look at my sister. I could feel a deep blush spreading itself   
across my face.  
  
"Ginny! You, uh, you didn't see this, all right?" I pleaded desperately, so distraught I forgot   
to use proper grammar.  
  
She merely nodded and turned to leave the room, eyes still wide, and mouth forming a perfect   
"O".  
  
I glanced at Penelope. She was grinning, and shaking with silent laughter. Suddenly, I could   
see a humorous side to the situation, and I laughed. She erupted with giggles, and for a while   
we both remained on the floor, laughing so hard it hurt.  
  
  
  
After that, we were inseparable. Well, until two days after our graduation. Then I got an owl   
from her saying we were through; she was running off with some rich ex-Quidditch player, and   
didn't want to be found.  
  
I locked myself in my room for three days after that. Ginny was the only one who tried to   
comfort me during those times. She would bring me food, the Daily Prophet, and any little bit   
of conversation that could to take my mind off Penny. I strongly believe Ginny was what kept   
me sane during that time. At least someone cared for me. No one else in my family did. Either,   
they didn't notice my absence, or they didn't care.  
  
I sigh, and snap myself back to reality. I pull up the sleeve of my robe, and check my watch.  
  
At first though, I am distracted, and my gaze travels from the wristband down my arm. I count   
as I go along. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Six pink scars, laying as a memorial to six   
dark times, in which I tried to end my life. I guess 'Perfect Percy' isn't so perfect after all.  
  
I shudder, then glance back at the watch. Five o seven. Dad was supposed to be here a few   
minutes ago, to say a hasty good bye before apparating back home, leaving me to my overtime.   
He probably forgot. Maybe he'll come back and say 'Sorry, Percy. Just got a little too rushed.   
Hey, why don't you skip the overtime, just this once, and come home with me?'.  
  
I won't hold my breath. That day may come, sometime. But until then, I sit in my cubicle and   
wait. I wait for salvation from this lonely life I never wanted. An escape from my own Azkaban.  
  
*******  
I hoped you liked that. It's not as good as the first two, I know, but I'll try to make the   
next one better. And now, the thanks:  
  
Sera - Thanks!  
Tigre - Not ALL librarians are evil. But you should always be on the lookout...  
McGonagall - Thank you!  
Caliko - Thanks!  
METMA Mandy - Kudos to *you* for reviewing!  
MochaButterfly - Thanks! You're one of my favorite ff authors, and to get a good   
review from you means a lot to me!  
Bethany - Because you *are* my best friend, I'll let the comment about JK go. But remember, I  
know where you live... See that rustle out your windows in the bushes? Tha was me...  
Calypso - Thankee! And, as I said before, this is dedicated to you, my fellow Percy lover!  
another rowan - Thanks!  
Ryven - You wished for more, and more there is! More to come, too!  
Olive - I've been toying with a thought of Snape, but now Alicia seems enticing... I wonder  
what HER story is...  
Crazy Aisy - Wow, you like it that much? *grins* Oooh.. Chills... This chapter isn't as spooky  
though. I'll try to make the others darker.  
Sailor Juno - More! I like that word! And I'll be writing some more after this... 


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